


Winchester's Luck

by headinthecloudsgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fluff, Caring Sam, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mark of Cain, Sick Dean Winchester, Sickfic, Winchester's Luck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5345069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headinthecloudsgirl/pseuds/headinthecloudsgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mark of Cain is taking its toll on Dean, but thank God Sammy's there to take care of his stubborn brother. <br/>This is post-demon Dean but while he still has the Mark, so he's still "yaking his guts out", like Crowley so eloquently put it :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winchester's Luck

_“I mean, I really really need to kill and if I don’t –“_

_”You yak your guts out? It’s the Mark.”_

_”Meaning?”_

_”It wants you to kill. The more you kill, the better you feel, the less you kill, the less better you feel.”_

_”How much less better?”_

_”One would imagine the least less better.”_

 

Dean groaned as the scene with Crowley replayed in his head. During his little demon-excursion he hadn’t felt the Mark’s influence on him as much – could be because he killed when it called him to do so. The demonic him had been ruthless, glad to be rid of any feeling and sometimes he missed that.

At least somewhere in a locked drawer in the darkest corner of his mind.

Of course he did not want to kill, in fact he resisted the Mark with everything he got, but he just wanted to not feel miserable one day.

Some days were better than others, some worse, but steadily heading towards the ‘least less better’.

Dean curled in on himself even more, stomach cramping time and time again. Not that there was much left to throw up if you asked him; the stuff he did manage to eat most of the time made a reappearance not much later. Add the lack of sleep to that and he was pretty much running on fumes. The Mark had him edgy all the time, making rest almost impossible and when Dean did manage to fall asleep, he dreamt some horrible stuff up that had him wide awake and gasping for air.

All in all it was a wonder that Sam had not caught on onto what was happening. Or at least had not had him concerned enough to ask what was wrong.

Who was he kidding, they all knew which way he was heading down and there was nothing they could do, not even Cas knew some way out.

His stomach clenched again and this time Dean had to accept that there was no way he could ignore it – he doubted he could even make it to the bathroom in time. Why exactly didn’t the Men of Letters built every room with a bath attached to it, anyway? No, all he had was a sink with a mirror above it and that was where he was heading towards to now, breathing deeply and trying to avoid the inevitable.

The moment the rest of last night’s dinner came back up was unfortunately also the moment he heard his baby brother’s footsteps walking past his door. Judging by the time, Sammy probably just got up and made his way to the kitchen to get some caffeine in his system.

_Best timing ever, Sam, thank you._

Dean retched again, both hands gripping the sink and bearing most of his weight.

“Dean? You okay in there?”

Hell, if he could say something, he already would have. Dean tried to get some air in between the retching but failed miserably so that all Sam got to hear was more of him throwing up.

“Alright, I’m coming in.”

His brother pushed the door open and immediately went to his side, on hand between Dean’s shoulder blades, the other one turning on the water to wash his mess away.

“Easy, Dean. You need to breathe.”

Dean threw him a _‘No shit, Sherlock’_ glance and willed his stomach back into submission. It took some time, but eventually he calmed down and went to wash out his mouth. If he was lucky, maybe before Sam –

“Is that blood?” Sam grabbed his chin and turned Dean so that he could look at him directly. “Dean, that’s blood on your chin. You’re throwing up blood.”

And where was the point in denying it?

“Yeah, I know. Not much, though.”

_Your body’s not strong enough to contain the blade’s power._

“You do know that blood’s the stuff that’s supposed to stay _inside_ of your body?” Sam huffed and let go of Dean so that he could rinse and spit. “Seriously, though. What’s going on? And what does ‘not much’ mean?”

“Did you somehow de-age or something? It’s like you’re five again with all those questions,” Dean said and made his way back toward his bed, no sleep and lack of food messed with his normally excellent balance. Damn dizziness.

“Dean.” Without even looking up Dean knew that he got the full blown bitchface, what didn’t happen too often lately.

“It’s the Mark, okay?! It’s the frickin’ Mark,” Dean bit out and then felt his memory foam mattress dip as Sam sat down next to him.

“It makes you sick? Next to the nightmares?” Sam asked and before Dean knew it, he had a giant hand on his forehead.

“Dude. Stop feeling me up.”

“Dean, man, you gotta tell me when you get this bad. I didn’t say anything about the nightmares because I knew that you were just gonna pretend they didn’t happen, but this? Talk to me, man,” Sam’s hand wandered from his brother’s too warm forehead between his shoulder blades and after a sharp look from Dean, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

“You want the truth, Sam? I feel like crap, that’s the truth. Ever since I got the Mark and don’t give in to it – this happens. Crowley said that it wants me to kill and that my body isn’t exactly modeled for bearing it. So put that together and you’ll see that I feel worse the longer this goes. The longer this goes without me killing anything, if you want to be specific,” Dean noticed that he got louder the last few sentences, up to the point where he was almost shouting. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed, “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I know the Mark makes you angry,” Sam said and then frowned. “You haven’t been this bad for the whole time, have you?”

Dean shook his head and regretted that move right after, it didn’t exactly make him feel better. “No. It’s… Some days are worse, some days I feel fine. Today is just a crappy one.”

“You’re not even wearing contacts, are you?” Sam asked, noticing the way his brother had been squinting when he had sat down on the bed and Sam had still been at the door.

“Nah, didn’t see a point in putting them in if I didn’t leave the bed.”

“Then at least let me get your glasses. Where are they?”

“Somewhere near the sink,” Dean asked more than stated and was glad that he’d be seeing more than blurry globs of color in the near future.

“How’d you even find the bed last night?” Sam grinned and felt some of the tension ease. He still had no idea what exactly the Mark was doing to Dean but the general situation of taking care of a sick, stubborn brother wasn’t _that_ unknown to him.

“Very funny, Sammy,” Dean said and took his glasses from his brother. They were kind of nerdy, with a dark brown frame, looking almost like the ones he’d worn when he had tried to kill that hellhound. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem. You up for relocating? We can crash on the couch and watch some movies,” Sam asked and stood in front of his brother.

The boys had turned one of the larger bedrooms into a living room you could say. Sure, they had the War Room and the library, but no comfortable room where they could just catch their breath together. Because that wasn’t happening in one of their bedrooms.

“We? I’m not some sick child, Sam,” Dean argued and looked up.

“No, but you _are_ sick and it doesn’t sound like fun. Besides, how many times have you taken care of me? Just let me return the favor?”

“Fine, if that makes you feel better,” Dean sighed and got up, expecting the head rush but still swaying slightly.

 

 

 

Sam reached for his brother’s upper arms and held him in place until he seemed a tad bit steadier on his feet.

“We’ll take it slow,” he said and started to shuffle them out of Dean’s room and in the general direction of their living room. It was nearer to the kitchen as well as to the main bathroom, it was nice not having to travel what seemed like miles to the next toilet or to get some snacks.

The room had a couch in it, the largest TV they could fit in with a DVD-player, games console, a small fridge and most importantly; nothing that had anything to do with Demons or any other supernatural creature. It was a room to relax. Or take care of your sick brother, it seemed.

Sam parked Dean on the couch, pointedly looked at one of the blankets until Dean got the clue and tucked himself in and then walked up to the little fridge, praying that there was still some Gatorade left. Whatever that was worth with Winchester’s luck, there were still some bottles of the drink. That was one of the better points of losing blood on a constant level – you always had something at home that would get your electrolytes back in place.

Sam grabbed one bottle and then also the trash can before sitting down next to Dean, setting the can within easy reach and handled his brother the drink.

“I know you don’t want to, but you have to drink something. From what you’ve been telling me, you’ve probably been verging on dehydration for, like, a month or something.”

Dean took the bottle and frowned at it. “Don’t know if I can keep it down.”

“Well, that’s what the trash can’s for,” Sam answered and watched as Dean sighed in resignation and took some sips. “Anything you wanna watch?”

“Nah, as long as it isn’t some chick-flick, I’m in.”

Sam chuckled and just turned on the TV, settling on some reruns of one or another crime series.

Dean had to admit, he had kind of missed this. Just hanging out with his brother, watching some kind of trash TV and just doing nothing. Way back, before everything had gone to hell – quite literary – there had been more of this family-feeling going on.

Where had he screwed up so badly that a few months prior he’d thought that the connection between him and Sam had been cut - for good, this time?

None of those thoughts were helping, really. Dwelling on what-ifs and bad memories did absolutely nothing for his stomach.

Dean sighed to himself and tried to very subtly press a hand to his gurgling middle. There really was no need to freak his brother out even more by not even keeping down Gatorade.

He should have considered that he had not only a Sasquatch as a little brother but also a former Stanford student and trained hunter - there was no way that Sam didn’t notice the movement, especially not if he was waiting for it.

“You doing okay?” Sam’s focus was completely on Dean, if it had ever been on the series.

Dean took some deep breaths and started to untangle himself from the blanket, “Gatorade was not the best idea.”

“And you think sprinting to the bathroom is? Fifteen minutes ago you couldn’t even stand on your own,” Sam retorted and reached for the trash can.

“I will not throw up in that. In fact, I will not throw up at all,” Dean said, determined face in place and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

He must be looking like a sulking child, not that he cared.

Sam grinned but still put the can between them that Dean could reach it easily. “All right, help yourself.”

Dean really tried to keep his mind off what was about to happen but he was fighting a losing battle, just like before.

When he started sweating Sam turned to him, looking exasperated, “Dean, don’t be so stubborn. You’ll feel better afterwards. If you have to get it out, get it out.”

“That’s the problem, Sammy, I won’t feel better,” Dean ground out and swallowed again.

 

 

 

Sam frowned at that but guessed it only made sense, it wasn’t as if Dean’s body go rid of what had him feeling so lousy by getting sick.

He watched as his brother’s throat worked and the way he paled even more.

Sam sighed, pushed the trash can into Dean’s hands and was barely able to snatch the glasses off of his nose, before Dean retched violently. The few sips of Gatorade came up easily but his body wanted to give more than it had to give.

“Easy, Dean, easy,” he mumbled, standing up to get behind his brother when the gagging didn’t subside. One hand again between Dean’s shoulder blades, the other caught his forehead before it could smack against the edge of the can. “C’mon, you have to breathe sometime.”

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Sam, Dean took a shuddering breath and didn’t immediately get back to being sick.

“Think you’re done?” Sam asked and took in the pallor of his brother’s skin. This was not good.

Dean didn’t even say something just let his eyes slip close and leaned into Sam’s hand that was still on his forehead.

Sam put the trash can with his other hand on the floor and then maneuvered Dean until he was lying down on his side.

“I need you to stay like this for a moment, I’ll get you some water.”

The five feet to the fridge and back had never seemed so far to Sam. In seconds he was back at his brother’s side, holding a bottle of water in his hands, praying that the coldness didn’t set Dean off again. “Dean, let’s get rid of that taste, okay?”

Dean forced his eyes back open and took sip of the water Sam was holding, swishing it around in his mouth for a moment before wanting to spit it in the can and by that setting of another round of vomiting.

“Shit,” Sam cursed, forcefully put the bottle on the floor next to him and helped his brother turn fully on his side so that his head was hanging over the trash can.

He started whispering nonsense again, just wanting to make his brother feel even a little better.

When Dean stopped retching for the third time that day, Sam smothered back the sweat-slick hair and laid his head back on the couch.

He tied of the sick bag quickly, setting it in front of the door so the room wouldn’t smell any worse than it already did. Within moments another bag was in the trash can and back next to his brother.

“Dean, you with me?”

Dean opened his eyes and blinked slowly. “Yeah. That sucked, man.”

“I can imagine. We’ll leave the water for the moment until your stomach has settled a bit, all right?” Dean nodded very carefully und took a shaky breath. “I just want to sleep. Water later.”

Sam nodded and went to sit down in the arm chair next to the couch when Dean said, “Stay?”

“Sure.”

Sam turned around and saw Dean heaving himself up on one arm, making space for him to sit. Sam sat down and guided his brother’s head down on his thigh before pulling the blanket up to Dean’s shoulders.

“Get some rest, jerk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe there'll be another chapter later on, but for now I'm gonna leave it like this :)  
> Hope you enjoyed it!


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